


Fighting for Control

by orphan_account



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: BDSM, F/M, dominant benedict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben needs to work through a few frustrations. Lucky for him, there's a perfectly lovely girl ready to assist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting for Control

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to not continue this story, seeing as Benedict's real-life situation has changed somewhat since I first wrote this (congrats, by the way Ben!). I was considering posting the few chapters I'd written but decided against it as I'd prefer to leave it as a standalone work.

Prologue

"For Christ's sake, Ben, what's going on?" Martin asks in exasperation. It's the seventh take of this particular scene and his co-star is yet to get his lines right.

"Fuck off," Benedict snaps. He stalks off the set towards the warehouse door, but when he gets there he crouches down against the wall, head in his hands. Martin follows, wary but willing to push his friend just a little.

"Ben, seriously. You've been off all week. Mark was going to say something soon, but I guess I get to beat him to the punch. What's happening?"

Ben glances up at Martin through slender fingers. "It's nothing, just a bit frustrated." At Martin's questioning look, he elaborates. "We haven't exactly had a break in a while, and focus seems to be in short supply today, that's all."

Martin chuckles. "Oh, that sort of frustrated. Whoever she is, can't she make it down here for a couple of days?"

"There is no 'she' at the moment, so no. And before you suggest it, I'm not hitting the town tonight for a shag. I don't understand how one Welsh town can have so many Sherlock fangirls."

"You know they come down here especially, hoping to spot you in the queue at Tesco's or whatever."

"Oh God, that's almost worse. Anyway, I'll be fine. Just give me a minute to pull my head in."

"You could always go off and pull something else, you know." Martin winks, a sly grin on his face.

Ben pushes off his knees and stands back up, leveraging his six extra inches to look down at his mate and glare before walking back to the cameras, long coat sweeping out dramatically behind him.

————————————————————

"How do you deal with it? You haven't seen Amanda in a fortnight."

They are back at Ben's rented flat in Cardiff; Martin is sprawled out on the couch and Benedict is in the kitchenette hunting down a bottle opener, beers clinking in his hand.

"Well, being an old fart like me helps a bit. So does Skype, although between the filming schedule, Amanda's work, and the kids, it can get a bit tricky. Most of the time I just get by with a lonely wank and try not to think too much about not being at home."

Having successfully located the opener and divested the beers of their caps, Ben wanders back into the lounge and passes one to Martin. He slumps into the squashy armchair across from Martin and takes a long sip from his own bottle.

"I know you don't really want to end up in bed with a Cumberbitch, but I reckon you could find a shag here in Cardiff if you really wanted. I'll even go as your wingman." Martin offers.

Ben chokes a little on his beer at these words. "Er, thanks for the offer, Martin, but it's not—"

"What, afraid that none of them will look your way when they catch sight of me?" John deadpans.

"Not exactly," Ben chuckles. "It's just that I'm a little... picky, when it comes to women. I don't think Cardiff has quite what I'm looking for."

The cheeky grin slides off Martin's face, to be replaced with something more curious. "This doesn't have anything to do with you and a certain kinky London sex club, does it?"

Ben gapes, thunderstruck. "How do you— wait, what? Who told—"

Martin has the grace to look chagrined. "There are rumours about a club in Soho with a rather exclusive back room, and a certain British actor who likes it rough. Add that to your prodigious crop wielding back on A Study In Pink and, well, you know. I can put two and two together. You know I don't care, right?" he hastens to add at Ben's appalled look. "Honestly, I couldn't give a damn what you get up to, so long as you're not sending people to hospital and I don't have to watch."

Colour flushes over Ben's cheekbones. "Right. Well, er, yes, it may have something to do with... what you just said. But it's fine, I can bloody well keep it in my pants until we get back to London. I'm thirty six, not sixteen."

"You know that this means most of the pictures on the Wall of Shame are at least fifty percent accurate," Martin jokes.

"Oh, shut up," Ben says without malice. The Wall is a long running joke on set, with a few members of cast and crew who keep managing to find the kinkiest, strangest creations made by fans. Ben's fairly sure that none of the girls he's fucked at the club were the type to go home and illustrate their evening.

Martin shakes his head, still laughing at his own joke, but thankfully moves the conversation along to their schedule for the following day.

————————————————————

The Jaguar XKR rumbles as it idles, its driver waiting for the underground garage door to fully open before pulling in and parking in one of the members' spots. Ben steps out of his car, slinging a leather carryall over one shoulder, and heads over to the access lift. The lift opens and he enters, turning to check his appearance in the mirrored doors. The crisp, white Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, serves to highlight his strong, lean musculature. Dark, slim fitting jeans and black lace up boots complete the look, and Benedict knows exactly how well his appearance will be received.

With a soft chime the lift doors open once more, this time leading into a softly lit entrance, bass thumping from behind the door opposite him. Ben walks over to the small reception desk off to the side of the room and smiles at the familiar young woman seated at the computer. It's been nearly four months since he was last here, but Angela clearly remembers him as well.

"Hello, sir. We have Room Eight ready for you tonight, if you'd like me to take your things there now?" she offers.

"That would be lovely, thank you Angela. I'll be up there shortly."

With that, he passes his bag to Angela and heads through the ornate wooden door and into the melee of the public bar. He quickly makes his way around the dancefloor and past the main bar to the cordoned off members' bar. It's a lot calmer in this corner, and dark enough to ensure Ben's anonymity as he sips on his Scotch and casts his gaze over the crowds. Men and women in varying states of inebriation and undress writhe to the beat of the music on the dance floor, while others drink and chatter away at the bar or nearby tables. Others still have moved beyond simple flirtations, and are commencing their evening's intended activities.

For this club tailors to the needs and desires of those not catered to in regular establishments. Public sex, bondage, sadomasochism and domination are all par for the course here, and the proprietors understand their clients' need for privacy and discretion. Anyone is welcome to come and play in the main arena, but an invitation back to the private rooms requires good connections and a confidentiality contract. Benedict manages his encounters using the club's online forum, under a pseudonym. It's fairly easy to find willing, submissive women for a night of no strings fun, and tonight had been no different. However, Ben has long been aware that his celebrity status makes him a rather tempting target for women looking for their fifteen minutes in the tabloids, and therefore keeps all casual encounters as casual as possible. He'd prefer to keep the more intense play for someone he knows he can trust implicitly.

He's arranged to meet Nicola in Room Eight at eleven o'clock, and the time currently is half ten. Thirty minutes to enjoy his drink and channel his famous character to deduce which of the women in the crowds is Nicola. Ben turns his thoughts back to the people in front of him, and starts to narrow down his choices. From his vantage point he can watch most of the dancers as well as those seated around the bar.

There. Two girls, chatting but clearly friends rather than partners. The one on the right is a tall, curvaceous brunette, and is clearly not as comfortable in these surrounds as her shorter friend. The friend's red curls drip down the back of her black dress, and as she turns her head slightly to follow the path of the brunette's outstretched hand, Ben knows he's found Nicola. This girl has clearly played here before, if not in the private rooms then certainly on the main floor. He turns back to his half-finished Scotch and waits, keeping a cautious eye on the two women. Every so often, he spots her peering towards the members' bar, although Ben knows she cannot see him clearly. At ten to eleven, she picks up her bag, hugs her friend goodbye, and walks confidently towards the entrance to the private rooms. Ben gives her a minute's head start before draining the last of his drink and following her into the back of the club.

———————————————————

Ben knocks softly on the door. There is a quiet shuffle, then the door opens to reveal the young woman.

"Hel— oh my God. You're—"

"Yes, I know. May I come in?"

"Right, yeah, come in. Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening."

They step into the room, Ben closing the door behind them. The room is sparsely furnished, with a comfortable looking leather lounge, an austere wooden chair and a cupboard against the back wall. A number of eyebolts and hooks are visible on the ceiling above them, and the bag Benedict had brought with him is resting against the chair. He takes a seat and waits for the girl to settle herself onto the sofa.

"Hello, Nicola. I'm Ben."

"I know," she says, flushing with embarrassment at her superfluous statement. "I mean, um, nice to—"

Ben cuts in smoothly. "A pleasure, Nicola. Did Angela talk you through how this normally works?"

"Yes. I've signed the privacy form, and she said that we would discuss the, um, details, for tonight once you got to the room." She sounds a little shaky and Ben hopes that that has more to do with his celebrity status than nerves about her role this evening. However, Ben has a strict 'no sex with the fan club' policy that has served him well over the years, and he starts mentally adjusting his plan for their encounter.

"Excellent. I don't want you scared, Nicola. This is probably rather intimidating, but tonight, I want you to forget about who I am outside of this room. Tonight, you may call me Sir. Do you understand?"

Nicola nods, sitting up a little straighter at his words.

"Can you tell me if you have any medical concerns, firstly?" he asks.

"I'm asthmatic. My inhaler is in my handbag." She pulls it out quickly to confirm its location, and Ben nods.

"Okay, thank you. What are your hard limits?"

"No blood, no stress positions, no marks. If that's alright," she adds hastily.

"Of course it's alright, that's why I asked you," Ben reassures. "I would like to incorporate rope bondage, sensory deprivation, spanking and masturbation into our session. Will you be comfortable with this?"

Nicola nods again, so Ben continues. "And your safe word?"

"Red for stop, yellow for slow down."

"Noted. Are you ready to begin? Did you need anything or want to ask anything before we start?"

Nicola shakes her head. "No, I'm ready, Sir," she says.

"In that case, I would like you to remove your shoes and your dress. You may leave your bra and pants on for now. When you are done, please kneel down in front of my chair." His tone becomes ever so slightly colder, loses some of the kindness it held when he first introduced himself. The actor knows what these women expect from a Dom and it's easy enough to fall into the character.

Nicola stands immediately and gets to work. Her chest pushes forwards as her outstretched arms reach over her head to the buttons holding her dress on, and her face contorts in concentration. Ben tears his eyes away in order to reach down for his bag, and place it open in his lap. When he looks back up, she has divested herself of her dress. She takes a seat on the couch to remove her shoes, and Ben uses her distraction to admire her the way her blue lace lingerie complements her milky skin. Placing her shoes neatly next to her folded dress, Nicola positions herself on her knees in front of Ben, hands on thighs and eyes cast upwards, awaiting her next instruction.

"Good girl, Nicola," Ben says, watching the slight flush of success that rises on the girl's cheeks. "Now, I would like you to choose one item from my bag that you would like to use on yourself tonight."

Nicola rises up on her knees, so she can peer into the bag resting in his lap. She glances quickly back to Benedict, asking permission to reach in, and with a curt nod from above she places one hand in the bag and digs around. The first item she pulls out is a very large, ridged dildo, and her eyes widen in shock. "You may examine each item before making a decision," Ben allows.

Relieved, Nicola once again reaches into the bag, this time retrieving a rabbit vibrator, a smaller dildo, a set of Ben Wa balls, and a wearable, remote-control vibrator in turn. She returns all but the remote vibrator to the bag, and kneels back down to present Ben with her choice.

"Very well," he says, taking the remote and leaving her with the double bulb of the vibrator itself. "Go and stand in the middle of the room, feet shoulder width apart. I want you to insert the vibrator leaving your pants on, then place your hands behind your back."

The girl nods in submission and rises to her feet. She walks four paces to the room's centre and positions herself facing Ben, legs apart. Scarlet curls fall over excited green eyes as she bends forwards slightly and reaches into her pants, fiddling for a moment as she inserts the vibrator's smaller end into her vagina leaving the larger bulb resting against her clit. Having accomplished her task, she straightens and stands at parade rest, hands clasped behind her and eyes facing forwards. Benedict leans forward to pocket several of the items he had retrieved earlier, and walks slowly towards his submissive.

Pausing behind Nicola, he ties a wide silk scarf loosely around her wrists for protection, then reinforces his bonds with a longer length of hemp rope. The rope laces from her elbows down to her wrists, and loops several times over her hands in a deceptively strong hold.

"Try to pull free," he commands. After a moment's futile struggle, Ben touches her hand and she stops fighting instantly. He then procures another silk scarf from his trouser pocket, and ties this one over the girl's eyes. Ben notices the minute change in her posture, her stance compensating for the loss of sight. This is what he loves most about blindfolds, the way he can raise a person's mental guards only to send them crashing down without warning.

Finally, he plucks a small MP3 player from his pocket, and positions the tiny, noise-cancelling earbuds in Nicola's ears. He clips the player to her bra strap, and leans in close to her ear so she can hear him through the headphones.

"The sounds you are about to hear are designed to cause disorientation, somewhat like white noise. You will not be able to see or hear me once I turn on the player. You are not to move or make a sound. Are you ready, Nicola?" he whispers seductively.

"Yes, sir," she replies, a small thrill of excitement present in her voice.

He switches on the player and steps back to admire the view.

Before him stands five feet six inches of creamy pale skin, interrupted only by the navy blue scraps of material at her hips and breasts, and the dark grey of the blindfold. Long red hair falls in soft tendrils over her shoulders, neatly framing her ample bust. Rosy lips hang open slightly as the initial shock of the aural block playing into her ears washes over her.

Ben watches, enraptured, as the tension and self-consciousness slowly flows from the woman standing defenceless in front of him, leaving her open and unaware. Once, he had sat down and listened to one of the audio tracks for himself, and he could only describe the experience as transcendental. From the look of her, Nicola would agree with that statement. He quietly moves his chair so he can sit facing her, and undoes his flies before taking his seat again.

He frees his semi-erect prick out of his pants with his right hand and slowly tugs at the head. The remote control for the vibrator in Nicola's pants sits in Ben's left hand, and with another pull on his rapidly hardening cock, he twists the dial to the lowest setting. A gasp from in front of him has him turning the vibrator off again with a wicked smile. She knows the rules, and that was most definitely a sound.

Ben focuses his attention once again on himself, twisting his wrist as he reaches the head on each long, languorous stroke. After a minute of working himself, he turns Nicola's vibrator back on. The girl clearly realises the mistake she made earlier, as Ben's action is met with a bit lip but no noise. Her control is admirable, and Ben feels a pulse of arousal travel through his spine and down into his prick. He keeps stroking at an almost lazy pace, every so often dialling up the intensity on the vibrator. Nicola wriggles every so often, in arousal and frustration, and each time Ben turns the vibrations back to nearly nothing.

Ben knows he's nearly at that glorious point of no return, right hand pumping away steadily, but has enough self control to slow down and return to the cold, hard man of steel Nicola expects him to be. There will be more than enough time to let go later, he reminds himself. For now, he tucks his penis back against the waistband of his boxers and rezips his trouser fly. He stands and makes his way quietly over to Nicola. Up close, he can hear her rough, forceful breaths as they escape through parted lips, and can smell her arousal through her panties. He nearly comes then and there, blown away by the desperate need emanating from this girl.

She hasn't noticed his proximity, and Ben takes advantage of her oblivion to tug her earbuds out and grab her around her waist, pulling her roughly over to the couch and bending her face down over his knees. He can feel the pulse of the vibrator against his thigh and the damp patch that has spread through her knickers. Her arms are still bound behind her, and Ben spreads his legs to stop her overbalancing.

"You've done ever so well, Nicola," Ben purrs as he strokes one large hand fluidly up and back along her backside and thighs. "I want you to stay quiet now, you've been such a good girl. Don't tense up, you're rather precariously balanced as it is. You look so beautiful like this, so ready to take anything I give you."  
With no warning, he strikes her backside with an open palm. Nicola cries out, unable to control herself. Ben turns the vibrator down to nothing and reaches around with his free hand to place two fingers in her mouth.

"Suck, Nicola. You have displayed admirable control so far this evening, and I would hate to think what might happen if you slip again." The thinly veiled threat is enough for Nicola to start sucking hard on his fingers. Between the warmth of her mouth and the weight on his lap, Ben is nearly out of control himself, but reins in his quickly escalating fantasies of exactly how he could rectify further disobedience. After returning the vibrator to its previous setting, he strikes her again, and this time a rosy ghost of his action rises on her pale cheek. Ben caresses the mark, murmuring soft words of praise as Nicola squirms in his lap.

He can sense that she is close to orgasm. Stroking along the smooth curves of her thighs and around to between her legs, she sucks harder still on his fingers and moans wantonly into the sensations. He smacks her again and dials up the vibrator to its maximum level. She comes with a shudder that rocks through her whole body, and her core muscles relax as she flops forwards, sated and a bit dazed as the peak of her orgasm pulses through her system.

Ben turns the vibrator off and makes quick work of the rope binding her wrists. After releasing her, he spends a few more moments just sliding his hands gently along her back, reassuring and comforting her through the last little shocks of her orgasm. He reaches under Nicola's knees and around her back, to safely position her upright on the couch beside him. He rises and walks to the cupboard on the back wall, gathering a water bottle and a blanket from the well-stocked supply he finds there. Returning, he wraps the soft fabric over Nicola's shoulders and hands her the bottle, taking a seat beside her but not touching. He knows his duties with respect to after care, but isn't sure what she needs from him and doesn't want to overwhelm her.

"Nicola?" he asks tentatively. "Is there anything you'd like me to do?"

"Um, I'm okay, I think. Just, that was... well, that was crazy. Benedict Cumberbatch just made me come," she marvels.

Ben chuckles, a hint of nerves slipping through. "I hope it was good for you. I truly enjoyed our time tonight."

"I wish I could brag about this to my friends," she admits, but at the look of horror on Ben's face, she quickly amends, "Oh, God, don't panic, I'm not telling anyone. I couldn't afford to get sued by you and that confidentiality contract looked scary."

"I'm sure you understand why I need to go to these lengths," he says, relieved. "Now, if you're sure you're well and I can't do anything else for you, I fear I must bid you good evening. Thank you again for tonight."

He stands, gathers his belongings, and with a final wave, walks out of the room and down the corridor to the men's toilets. His erection has been waiting impatiently for release for a while now, and he quickly locks himself into a cubical and takes himself in hand once more, sitting on the toilet lid with his trousers and pants bunched loosely around his knees. He has always struggled to let go of his character during casual encounters, and relies on his right hand afterwards rather than letting whichever girl he has conned into playing with him see him at his least controlled.

Returning his thoughts to sexier themes than his own control issues, Ben allows himself to recall the way Nicola's mouth fell open as she lost her sense of hearing to the music player, her gorgeous red hair falling in fat curls down her pale back, the way she moaned against his fingers as she rocked her hips against his thighs... and with that thought, he spurts into his hand and sinks back against the cistern.


End file.
